


Hollow Men

by Mellaithwen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demonic Possession, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e22 Devil's Trap, Gen, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Possession, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-06
Updated: 2006-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1277011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellaithwen/pseuds/Mellaithwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Spoilers for Devil's Trap. The missing scene before getting into the Impala. The demon has gone, and Dean's slipping away..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow Men

**Author's Note:**

> 'Hollow Men' extracts belong to TS Eliot

                                                                                                                             *-*-*

‘ _In this valley of dying stars_  
In this hollow valley  
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms’

“You kill me, you kill Daddy,” The demon told him, tauntingly, to which Sam’s grip never faltered on the gun trained on his father.

“I know.”

The shot rang out, and the bullet hit John in the leg, flashes bringing the demon and his father to the floor. As soon as he fell, the grip keeping Dean pinned was released, and he slid to the ground hard with a strangled gasp. His body collided with the floor harshly, jarring his wounds even further. Sam stayed still for a moment, gun still raised, before he caught glimpse of his brother’s prone form at the base of the wall, and he ran over to him.

“Dean, hey,” And he saw the dripping wet red stain on his brother’s clothes. “Oh god, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Where’s dad?” Dean grounded out, still trying to breathe through the strain of keeping the darkness at bay.

“He’s right here, he’s right here, Dean.” Sam comforted, hoping it would be enough, as he knelt in front, unsure of what to do to ease his big brother’s hurt.

“Go check on him,” Dean whispered brokenly, Sam frowned, “Dean?” He didn’t want to leave his brother’s side, but he was unable to deny him anything either. “Go check on him.” And Sam dared stray closer to the form on the floor. Their father, and the demon.

“Dad? Dad?”

“Sammy!” He screamed suddenly, head shooting up, fully awake, teeth bared as though fighting something unseen. “It’s still alive, it’s inside me, I can feel it, you shoot me, you shoot me, you shoot me in the heart son! Do it now!”

“Sam, don’t you do it.” Dean cried weakly from the side as he watched his brother cock the colt.

“Now!”

“Don’t you do it.”

“You gotta hurry, I can’t hold onto it much longer. You shoot me son! Shoot me!”

Sam didn’t pull the trigger.

“Son I’m begging you, we gotta end this here and now. Sammy!”

“Sam, no.” Dean whispered his plea, and still the trigger remained un-pulled.

“You do this!” John screamed, the strain so clear, “Sammy!” but he only lowered the colt, and John tried once more, “Sam,”

Before his body bucked and he screamed as the demon left him, a swirling vortex lingering above for mere seconds before plunging into the floor disappearing from their sights. Sam still held the gun but no longer at his father, lowering it now that the threat was gone, and staring at his father’s anguish as he lay his head back against the ground, defeated.

A pained gasp, made him turn around.

“Dean? Hey, Dean, come on, open your eyes.”

And Dean did, only by a crack. They were glazed, and it was clear to Sam that his brother was still in agony and getting weaker by each _drip, drop, drip, drop_ of his blood onto the floor, be it from his mouth, abdomen or chest. His breathing was laboured as he held onto consciousness by a thread.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam muttered fearfully, unable to stop his eyes lingering over the mass pools of blood on his brother’s body, or ignore the way Dean held his arms over himself as though he was still waiting to be attacked again. “It’s okay now.” Sam put his hands on his brother’s shoulders, a difficult task by the way Dean was lying, but as soon as he touched Dean, and move him even in the slightest he cried out in pain.

Sam let go immediately, not wanting to cause any more problems, but aware that they couldn’t wait for an ambulance to arrive, they had to get there themselves.

“Dean, I know it hurts, but I’ve gotta get you up man.”

The blood was still pouring and the pain was far from over.

“No,” He whispered. “No,”

“Sam’s right, Dean.” His father said out of the blue, having stumbled to his feet, and Dean turned his head weakly to look at him. The man was leaning on the table, favouring his other leg, his eyes imploring as he stared at his boys. He dared look at the wounds adorning Dean’s body, telling himself that it was he that had inflicted him and no other. His hands that had a part in hurting his son so much.

 _“Dad, please.”_

John had never felt so much hurt in his entire life at hearing his oldest beg like that. Beg _him_ , beg his father not to kill him. To spare his life, to fight on his behalf, but the demon’s eyes had not faltered until Dean’s head was falling forward, losing too much blood too quickly. John had no choice, he was trapped and now his worst fears were coming to life. He was watching his son die. By his own hand.

  
_“Stop,”_ He had whispered to the monstrosity inside of him, watching a droplet of blood fall from Dean’s mouth to the ground with a splash. _“Stop it.”_

“Dean,” John limped closer. “Just take it for now.” And John would never forget the looks being shot his way. Sam, incredulous at the lack of emotions the man showed, lack of sincerity, or care. While Dean looked so hurt, so lost and afraid and confused.

And in pain.

Sam tried again, using gentler touches this time, but still eliciting the same pain from his brother. He could see Dean’s teeth biting down on his lip to stop him from crying out, and once Sam had gotten him halfway, John reached out and helped pull Dean up the rest of the way, the boy’s teeth were crammed together, trying to do as he was told, and _take it_. Dean was shouldered between the both of them, Sam and John took a step forward, but Dean’s legs couldn’t hold him and as soon as he tried to do the same, he buckled in their grasp.

They reacted instantly, grabbing him by the armpits, hoisting him upward once more, eliciting another cry Dean couldn’t stop in time. His arms were draped over his family’s shoulders as he was dragged out of there, head lolling, and chin touching his chest as they headed for the Impala. John pretended not to notice how much Dean was leaning closer to Sam, or the fact that his head was resting closer to his brother’s than his father’s. He tried not to look at the glistening sticky substance all across the boy’s chest, trying not to look at the golden pendant, dipped in crimson liquid.

When they got close enough, Sam tossed his father they keys, who opened the door for them. While John let go, Dean’s weight was thrust onto Sam, who took it in his stride, holding his brother upright, and praying he wasn’t causing too much pain as he did so. Dean’s eyelids were drooping again. His lips parted enough for small trickles of blood to still weave their way past his teeth and slip down his chin, and neck.

Sam began to bend, but the change in momentum for Dean made him cry out again, and Sam knew the extent of his injuries had to bad if he was willing to let the pain show. He stopped instinctively, looking up at his brother.

“You have to get in the car, Dean.”

While his eyes said, _I’m sorry._

And that much, Dean already knew. He tried to go in by his own accord, lessening his grip on Sam, that only made him almost fall, his knees buckling once again, and Sam took a chance on nudging his brother in slowly, closing the door after him once he lay Dean’s head against the chair, before getting into the driving seat himself, John riding shot-gun, gritting his teeth, a bullet in his leg.

The ignition roared, and Sam put his foot on it. The Impala tearing down the highway as he rushed his family to the hospital, aware that John was better off, but catching glances of his brother’s bloody and pale face, tired and weak, in the rear-view mirror from time to time, worrying him to no end.

Before settling into the silence of the car-ride, and listening to his father with a detached fascination at how tactless the man seemed, Dean let out one last whimper, and Sam heard the irony even if Dean did not.

 _We are the hollow men._

And this is the way the world ends...

 

 **-Fin.**

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